Thrice In Our Lives
by Ardespuffy
Summary: A first time, a last time and a time in between. ჯIchiHitsu, yaoi, mature content.
1. Frost Time

**DISCLAIMER: **Tite Kubo owns all things Bleach.

**WARNINGS (for this chapter only): **IchiHitsu established, yaoi, mature content, PWP. The characters are portrayed just the same as my other stories, though I guess you needn't read those to enjoy this one-shot. =) Might be set some months before _Make It A Habit _if you will.

**GENRE (for this chapter only): **smut, humour, romance.

**SUMMARY: **today's the day they cross the edge, leap off the fence, take The Big Step – whatever you wanna call it. Except something gets tragically out of control.

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**1. Frost Time**

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Ichigo has got short to no idea what he's to do. Not to mention his self-control is dangerously wavering. Toshiro feels the most arousing ever; his skin glistens with sweat, his eyes shine in expectation, and the way that deep voice lowers to a weak growl as he calls out his name (his _first_ name for once) is making it all the more challenging to bear.

The thing is, while as any 15-year-old Ichigo does possess some knowledge regarding straight sex, he's severely lacking tips on the… variant that concerns him more. And it's currently showing. Most humiliatingly so.

It's not like they haven't… done anything before, the redhead muses to himself, whilst desperately trying to play it cool under Toshiro's increasingly annoyed scrutiny. But hands roughly shoved down each other's pants for quick relief when things get too heated to stand, just before rejoining straight-faced whomever they'd been with before lust hit, hardly compare to sharing a bed – Ichigo's very bed at that – for the first time. The moment is perfect too: Isshin, Karin and Yuzu are at work, since the presence of 10th division fuktaichou Rangiku Matsumoto in town always happens to give the Kurosaki clinic a fair load of job (Tohiro claims he wants nothing to do with the strange occurrence). Half of much needed foreplay they have already been through: clothes were disposed of, legs have tangled under the sheets, lights are out and Ichigo_ can't seem to get any_ fucking _thing_ _started._ His breath keeps getting caught in his throat, his, his, goddamnit, his cock is jumping eagerly against his own belly, his balls are seriously threatening to turn blue with utmost need and god knows he wants this, his entire being aches for it, but he can't do it. Can't. Do. It. Ichigo lets out a shaky sigh, his nose nuzzling the white-haired boy's neck.

"What's wrong?"

Toshiro's voice is chilling, inexpressive. Ichigo bites on his lower lip lightly. "Nought. S'rry."

A cool hand slips between their bodies in reply, blatantly heading southward. The captain's fingers halt to play with the redhead's bellybutton for a moment, then decidedly slide lower to brush against soft hair and hot, slick skin.

Half-consciously leaning into the touch, Ichigo buries his face deeper in the crook of his lover's neck, muffling a shameful whine. Toshiro must take it as encouraging, for his fist closes around Ichigo's throbbing length and gives an experimental squeeze. The demi-hollow can't fight back a higher-pitched sound. "Don't."

The tantalizing fingers instantly loosen their hold, grazing both erections in the process. That's when Ichigo realizes the ice master, whose resolve was always so hard to break, is currently every bit as aroused as himself – if the soft moan that's just escaped his mouth is any indication. Well, fuck. "Fuck!" Is what Ichigo says out matter-of-factly.

Toshiro's answer comes after a moment, words uttered remarkably slowly. "That would be the point."

Innuendos. Oh for the love of gods, Toshiro's been reduced to using innuendos! Ichigo can't help the light roll of his hips nor the yelp of his cock, which is apparently very much comfortable grinding down his admittedly responsive partner. "I'm…" His voice comes out as a croaked squeak. The sub Shinigami coughs to regain composure, disregarding all finesse – coughing in your lover's ear isn't exactly renowned as a turn-on. "I'm not… sure how…" _how this is supposed to work_, he means to add, but never manages. Toshiro's huff prevents the words from flowing.

The silver-haired prodigy shifts oddly under him. Ichigo notices he's rearranging to spread his legs wider – that alone has him groan in anticipation. The redhead's arousal comes to nudge Toshiro's sac, then lower, poking at that point mere inches above his real goal. Here's where the captain quits his wriggling, letting out a sigh of satisfaction as the tip of Ichigo's cock presses against the tiny, smooth spot.

"Mh-mh?"

"Shut up." Toshiro finally slides further, proving to know his anatomy fairly well after all. The motion makes Ichigo's swollen head all but crash against a small, tight opening. Very small and tight.

_How the hell am I s'posed to fit – ?_

Toshiro's hips jerk upward, forcing his lover's erection past the first crown of muscles.

_Ow. Aw. Guess _that's_ how. _

What follows feels like a blur. Two arms encircle Ichigo's neck, pulling him closer, just as pale, lithe legs wrap around his waist. The feeling of warmth, heat, _heat, scorching heat, need for more,_ _more, _fuck_, please,_ is overwhelming. Ichigo pushes in further without even realizing, desperate to merge with his lover completely. It… It's…

Frustrating, borderlining painful.

Toshiro's mouth is so close to his ear every single hiss and whimper registers. "Ichigo." Comes out first in a heated whisper, then, within seconds, in a startling, pained gasp. "Ichigo!"

The teen stops dead in motion, frightened to the core.

Hitsugaya's gorgeous features are twisted in a mask of hurt. "Burns." The kid taichou eventually blurts out, his glassy eyes barely focusing before scrunching shut. "Hell!"

Ichigo tries his hardest not to panic. There's no denying how much the ache on his boyfriend's face is affecting him, though. His first reaction would be to pull out, but the strong muscles clasping around him beg to differ. "Oi." He calls out uncertainly the moment those teal eyes slide shut. His fingers raise to stroke Toshiro's cheek lightly. "Oi. You." Ichigo keeps his voice as gentle as possible, dreading to sound impatient. A wave of relief washes over him as the captain stares back, looking worn out but very much conscious. The sight is so breath-takingly beautiful the redhead's fingers still their soft caressing, entranced. "We don't have to."

Pale ocean eyes light up with familiar determination. That's the kind of look that suits 10th division Captain Hitsugaya the best, according to most people. Ichigo feels proud to know better. "Can bear it."

"You shouldn't – !" The redhead's words get caught in his throat. Seriously, what the fuck? "I don't want you to _bear_ it." He growls, lowering his head to gaze directly in the other's eyes. "I want you to enjoy it."

Toshiro's answering 'easier said than done' glare is pretty simple to decipher. "It's fine." He grunts at last.

Ichigo stiffens, then goes limp into the other's arms as the body underneath opens to welcome him. Kind of unexpected, really. His bewilderment is soon after kissed away by Toshiro's tongue tracing his lips, breaking in, coaxing yet gentle, warm, _warm, so very warm and comforting, never-ending, never-ending, I want this to never end. _Ichigo gets lost in the kiss, drowns so hard, so far his surroundings disappear, and all that's left is Toshiro's tender, demanding mouth. He almost fails to notice the captain arching up into him, letting his manhood in deeper. Almost being the key word.

"Here." Toshiro's back to broken whispers. He hides the discomfort increasing with every inch Ichigo advances in their fierce liplock. For brief instants it's actually pretty pleasurable, feeling that hot hard-on taking him – the sense of fullness, and the friction, and the hitching in the redhead's breath, and the occasional brush of flat abs against his own now faltering erection. The swordsman finds himself moaning in the kiss. "Yeah." He gasps at Ichigo's first proper thrust.

That does it. The hint of unmistakable lust in Toshiro's voice goes straight to the other's groin, fuelling the erratic motion of hips. Ichigo pulls back, then all the way in, and it's, _gods_, it's just the right thing, the – fuck! _**And here we thought handjobs were good**_, Hichigo's voice is heard somewhere inside, the demi-hollow being too engrossed in the sensation to silence his rude counterpart. Fuck, isn't he right anyway. Ichigo breathes quickly against his lover's skin, all the while canting his hips forward to delve deeper, deeper inside the unbelievably tight channel. Somewhere in the blur of the moment the redhead notices Toshiro putting up quite a fight, his inner muscles contracting as to push the intruder back – but the pleasure is so overwhelming he casts worries aside and begins rocking at a swift pace, driven by the happy twitching of his full-sheathed arousal.

A low whimper of distress is all the warning Toshiro gives before things get Out Of Control.

It's barely noticeable at first. Ichigo pays no mind to the increasing tightness until the prodigy's sphincters are squeezing him to the point of hurting. The orange-haired youth goes rigid between the other's thighs. "Oi." He calls out in a soft tone, but Toshiro, eyes scrunched tightly closed, doesn't seem to be listening. Ichigo shifts in an attempt to ease the discomfort. All the movement generates, however, is a sudden surge of – cold?

Cold. Better yet, chill. _Oh, fuck!_

Ichigo's got the feeling he knows exactly what's going on. His instinct tells him to pull out, but – but it's getting awfully cold _in_ there, and his – his cock is – Ichigo gulps loudly. "T'shiro!" He sputters, nudging the boy's cheek with his nose to get attention. "Relax. For gods' sake, relax!" The freezing grip of reiatsu on his manhood, as well as the chilling air filling up the bedroom, does not relent. Ichigo hisses in pain. "You're hurting me."

Here's when Toshiro's eyes shoot open, lit up with a shade of disbelieving fury. "_I_'m hurting you?" He all but barks, fighting the urge to punch the goddamn idiot in the face. What the hell does a man who's never had a fucking wood up his ass know about pain, again? The whiz kid huffs through gritted teeth, while trying to figure out what they should do next. As Kurosaki _would_ know if only he was a dutiful Shinigami, a person's spiritual energy reacts to their moods and sensations. Of course reiatsu can be controlled – that's what most ranked soul reapers are trained to do – but Toshiro's outstanding talent, resulting in his extraordinarily quick ascent to the grade of captain, kind of made certain details overlooked by his superiors, who never had to put much effort into his training. So, yeah, like that sodding Arrancar said just before going down under Hyorinmaru's ire, Hitsugaya has got problems controlling his reiatsu. Then again, this infinitesimal deficiency has never been that much of an obstacle in battle, so it's just ridiculous that it might be in – well, in _sex_ for crying out loud.

Rejecting the mere idea Toshiro wills himself to _relax_, like the giant red-haired asshole put it. Except an uncommonly steel-cold dick trapped in your insides is hardly the easiest feeling to get used to. "Cold." The taichou lets out a breathy whimper.

"Yeah, well, whose fault is that?" Ichigo snaps back, but instantly regrets it. This… is going all wrong. _He_ is doing it all wrong, and it's not Toshiro's bloody fault if his boyfriend is a freakin' selfish dumbass who wanted to try sex on a whim and never once stopped to consider what it'd be like for his partner. Guilt overcomes any other feeling, leaving Ichigo with a sheer will to kick himself. "Toshiro… Please, trust me. I-I'm not sure how to make it better for you, but, if you just let me – "

Heat. A surge of heat radiates from the smaller boy's core, defeating the icy reiatsu. Ichigo is stunned to hear Toshiro actually moan with need. "Nice." The captain murmurs in his lover's ear, then brings him to lie flat against his own form, revelling in the finally warm contact of skin with skin. Now, sure Kurosaki is an idiot, but he has got his way with… Toshiro snorts to get rid of the disgustingly sweet thought that's just crossed his mind. "Touch me." He grunts, pointedly arching up off the bed. "And for heaven's sake, _move._"

Ichigo is completely clueless about whatever brought this change forth, but he's not waiting for Toshiro to get all bothered again. Slowly, cautiously he pulls all the way back, barely resisting the urge to look down and check his manhood for permanent ice-caused damage. His right hand creeps down the silver-haired prodigy's body to nestle between wide open thighs; Ichigo takes the feeble groan that sparks as an invitation and carefully pushes back in, hissing at the wonderful, wonderful feeling of – _bloody fuck_, he needs release, and he needs it bad. They've been going at it for a while now, what with all the hinting and the teasing and the foreplay that took Ichigo to persuade his lover in the first place, and now… now his balls are tightening in plea, but, screw it, he's fifteen and it's his fucking first time _and_ he's got the most enticing partner ever. The redhead claims Toshiro's lips and sighs in the kiss, as his length slides contentedly in and out the now welcoming channel.

The friction is almost unbearable – maybe they should have considered some kind of lubrication? – but the stinging pain has subsided, and the ice master is enjoying thrusting up in Ichigo's hold quite a lot. The thin layer of sweat on the demi-hollow's palm provides just the perfect attrition, coaxing Toshiro's manhood back to full arousal. What's more, there's something oddly pleasant in feeling his _boyfriend_, gods, _ain't this a sickening word_, inside of him, even if the stupid bastard doesn't seem to know what he's doing very well. That actually makes it all the more endearing, if anything. Disgruntled at his own thoughts the kid captain gives a sharp jolt of his hips, meaning to either startle Ichigo or hopefully cause him some sort of discomfort.

Something with the plan goes terribly wrong, though, since Toshiro finds himself yelping in delight at the motion.

He's got no idea what he's done whatsoever, nor does Kurosaki if his stunned expression is anything to go by, but damn him if he won't try to do it again. Angling his hips to meet his lover's every thrust fully, Toshiro squirms around the thick cock pounding into him, adjusting till –

The substitute Shinigami wonders what is it that he's doing to have Toshiro writhe so restlessly beneath _and_ around him, but he's positive he won't be able to hold out much longer if all the wriggling keeps up. He curses under his breath and instinctively speeds up, his pelvis clashing against the other boy's, his hand pumping the captain's arousal furiously. "Fuck, stop doing that, or…"

"Ichigo!" In the blink of an eye strong legs are clutching and firm muscles are clenching around him harder than ever before. Toshiro arches impossibly high off the bed as his cock twitches in Ichigo's hand, releasing seed in hot, powerful white sprouts.

_How? What? How? Whoa!_ The orange-haired teen gives up all hopes of a phrase-able thought and just growls out his own pleasure as he comes hard inside the amazingly hot boy holding onto him for dear life. Fuck, finally, finally. _So relieving._ They ride off their orgasms together with shallow, shaky thrusts.

Several lazy kisses later, Ichigo rolls onto his side bringing Toshiro along with him (the captain struggles to get away); they eventually come to lie together, Hitsugaya's firm back pressed against the redhead's chest.

Ichigo nuzzles his partner's hair, hopefully without being too obvious about it.

"Stop that this instant, Kurosaki. I don't do afterglow cuddling."

The demi-hollow smiles while breathing in the bittersweet scent of lovemaking, plus that peculiar shade of power and ice and arrogance that is just purely Hitsugaya Toshiro, Gotei 13 captain, extraordinarily grouchy boyfriend. "Of course." Ichigo grins.

Under the bed-clothes, out of sight, two hands intertwine.

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**Author wants everyone to know this was written while Ardespuffy was running a high fever (no kidding!). What excuses is she going to make for the following chapters, though, Author's not sure yet. **

**Thanks for reading *w*/ I'm always in awe at the feedback I get from you people. Remember a single review makes half my week! Do your maths to know what will make me very, very happy now. **

**More smut to come for ye greedy fangirls! -)**


	2. Lust Time

**DISCLAIMER: **Tite Kubo owns all things Bleach.

**WARNINGS (for this chapter only): **AU, yaoi, mature content, PWP. Set in a non-magical universe. Also, be warned: these are NOT my usual Ichigo and Toshiro, their characterization in here differs from that of my other stories. Keep it in mind throughout the reading.

**GENRE (for this chapter only): **smut, angst.

**SUMMARY: **I want to love you till there's nothing left of me. But every time is just another last time.

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**2****. Lust Time**

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The crowd is restless. No wonder per se: long queue plus short patience equals endless moaning, Toshiro ponders, wrapping his arms tighter around his own slender form. It doesn't help that it's bloody freezing too, he figures. As far as he's concerned that is actually the only bright spot, but still.

Matsumoto's sudden cry of exhaustion catches his attention. "Nnngyah! I can't take it anymore, this is getting ridiculous! Last time we were here this place was so bad off they nearly begged us to come, and look now! We'll be lucky enough to step foot in at the rate we're goin'. Hell, is this how they treat old friends? To think I've pestered you about this all week! Y'know, I'm starting to think you were right all along, Shiro-chan."

Those words sound like music to the boy's ears, so much in fact Toshiro fails to get back at the girl for using the hated nickname. "It's not too late to slink off. I promise no 'told you so's if we leave now."

"Nah, what's the point in dropping after we've come so far? Look, line's moving. Stay beside me or they'll tread upon you, little thing!" Here Matsumoto does the most humiliating… – namely, takes the admittedly short boy's hand in hers and fucking _drags_ him along to slide with the flow.

By the time they finally reach the entrance, Toshiro's face is crimson with hate and utter embarrassment. To make matters worse, the tall, impressively well-built bouncer at the door is staring through dark sunglasses – most unnecessary, it's past bloody two in the morning – at the strange couple, looking all but eager to let them in. "Sssso… guess you thought something gave you the right to take me for a fool, ne?"

Matsumoto folds her arms across her massive, scarcely clothed breasts. "Whadda hell is this supposed to mean? We've been in line for bloody forever, you can't not let us enter!"

Wrong thing to say. The black-clad brute spits rudely at his feet. "I can and I will keep you out if you don't watch that trap of yours, beauty. Besides, what were you expecting brining a kid with you? Is it a new pick up technique I don't know of, or – wait, you're not a teenage mom, are you?" The man peers above the edge of his dark lens. "Nope, definitely too old for that."

In a moment the unadulterated fury radiating off Matsumoto's body seems to heat up even the chilling air. Toshiro rubs his temples and curses under his breath. Damn fucktard will never hear the end of it if he doesn't step in before the blond woman bursts. "There's no need for silly assumptions. I've got my ID right here. Take a look and you'll see I'm of age."

Albeit visibly annoyed at the condescending tone, the bouncer does as much. "Phew, whoa? You twenty-three, like hell! Don't ye fuck with me, boyo, or else…!"

"It's okay, Iba. Let 'em in."

_That_ voice, the only one Toshiro could recognize any bloody where, even with the raging roar of the crowd behind him and the loud beat of the music coming from inside.

"Ichigooo ~ !" Murderous instinct kicked aside for the moment, Matsumoto leaps into the orange-haired newcomer's arms, nearly suffocating the guy with her huge boobs. "Thank God you've showed up, I was just about to jeopardize my criminal record again!"

"C-Criminal… _what_?" Iba, the bouncer, sputters in disbelief, but no one minds him.

"It's great to see you back around. Come on in." Ichigo gently urges the woman to follow him inside the dim lit nightclub, stopping to glance back over his shoulders at the reluctant boy behind them. "What about you?"

Toshiro averts his eyes quickly. _Damn it all to hell._ True, given that Kurosaki Ichigo is to the infamous _Gotei_ disco club what Bill Gates is to Microsoft Corporation it had been pretty foolish of him to hope he and Matsumoto could sneak in without the redhead noticing – but Toshiro had been in desperate need of a shining utopia to cling onto ever since his smoky former flatmate had started considering dropping by Kurosaki's club to 'greet a few friends' before she was forced to leave town again due to her free-lancer job. Since the silver-haired young man's yet to succeed denying Matsumoto pretty much anything…

"What? Are you sure we should let him in, Kurosaki-san? He's just a brat!"

The vein on Toshiro's forehead throbs dangerously under the bouncer's sceptical scrutiny. Before he gets the chance to stand up for himself, however, the carrot-top youth gives Iba a friendly slap on the back. "Don't worry. He's with me."

_Nnngghffuck._ Toshiro feels his stomach churn at that. How dare the bloody asshole speak of him so freely, like – ? "Am not!" He barks as viciously as he can.

Here's when their eyes lock. Gods, does Toshiro know that gaze. Ichigo has got the unique ability to look right through him, bring his hidden secrets to the fore then shrug them away with a nonchalant smile and, sometimes in the past, those crazily skilled hands of his… which Toshiro will not be thinking about not now nor ever, thank you very much. Even now Ichigo's lips are arched in a mock-innocent grin. "Don't mind him, Iba. He's just too shy to admit it, but we are together." His light brown eyes take on a glint of mischief as the man goes on. "I meant we're _all_ together, like an ol' big family. How would playing in as my little brother suit you, Toshiro?"

Damn motherfucking bastard. Toshiro can practically sense the flaming waves of embarrassment flowing off his own body as the redhead's eyes bore into his, as full of promises and sins as they always were. As they were back when – _as they were last time._ Then again, Toshiro tells himself, every sodding time is just another last time for the two of them.

"Huh, not to break the tension n' all but people are waiting, bumpkin-san. We'd better get moving and let these poor things have their turn as well." With just about the perfect timing Matsumoto grabs Toshiro's arm and pulls him unceremoniously inside the club, past Iba's surveillance range. "Now, show us around, will you Ichigo? It's been a long time since shorty and I last dropped by."

Toshiro feels his cheeks grow scarlet, not so much at the blonde's words – which, for the record, happen to hold a, mmh, a technical imprecision about them, meaning they are, huh, kind of, mh, well, _untrue_ – but rather at the knowing glance Ichigo sneaks him behind Matsumoto's back. The smirk that blooms on the redhead's face soon enough speaks volumes. "Long time indeed. Why, follow me."

A strong arm props down casually around Toshiro's shoulders, causing the youth to stiffen and nearly trample over a stair-step. Ichigo's leer all but grows wider. "After all," he adds in a voice that sends shivers down Toshiro's spine, "we gotta make up for lost time."

It's going to be a long, long night – the silver-haired boy suddenly realizes.

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The motherfucker is staring, Toshiro can tell. His prickling skin is always an indication of people watching him, and right now – right now his whole body's tingling with yearn, very annoyingly so. _That's the Kurosaki-effect for you, I guess._ There's just something about the redhead's stare that makes Toshiro feel like getting out of his clothes here and now. The white-haired boy sighs while nervously playing with the whatsitagain drink in his hand, teal eyes scanning the crowd nonchalantly. _Hope so. _It's no use trying to look at someone else when Ichigo's in the room, though, and Toshiro finds his gaze drawn to the redhead's once more.

And it's not like, he muses, the man is outstanding or something. Well, apart from the bright orange hair, which stands out in the crowd alright. Sure, Ichigo has got a nice body – warm in all the right places, well-built and mortifyingly comfortable to lean against in moments of intimacy – a smartass smile – that can switch to 'tender and caring lover' mode in seconds – and good tastes in clothing – hell, he looks positively killer in black shirt and pants… but that's just about it, really. Plain looks all in all. Nothing particularly enticing to stare at. Then why can't Toshiro seem to do anything but? _Jerk. He's a jerk and you're worse off, 'cause you want him so much it's bad for your health. How pathetic._

Their eyes meet across the dance floor.

Ichigo has to bite on his lower lip to stop himself from shouting an invitation of some sort. That Toshiro would dump Matsumoto right upon stepping into the club is bad enough, but that he'd rather sit at the bar all by himself looking that illegally fuckable is more than any man in their right mind could bear. Sighing in self pity (seriously, he could have pretty much anyone he'd want in that room, yet he's stuck obsessing over an uptight midget – how's that even fair?) Ichigo wills himself to look away. After the last time they were together – which is not as far in time as Matsumoto must have been led to believe anyway – the redhead had made a point to stay the fuck away from Toshiro unless the boy came to him first. _Yeah, right, like that's ever gonna happen. Then again, as long as it's all watching no touching…_ Sweet temptation has the better on him and Ichigo turns, his eyes drinking in the sight before them.

Gods, the boy drives him bloody insane. True, Toshiro might look like a kid nine-tenths of the time, but the way he acts around people, like he could really care less what everybody's thinking makes for one hell of a turn-on to Ichigo. Even though he knows way better than to buy it, the redhead reminds himself with a soft, sad smile. In truth Toshiro's utter fear of others' judgement has been one obstacle too many between them, second to their awful timing. _But_ _things weren't always so shitty._ There had been a period they could actually talk and enjoy each other's company in public before ending up in bed together – sharing a real bed, _that too has changed_, replaced by rushed shagging in dark alleys whenever their pride cracks and their masks fall off. Ichigo knows they have screwed up big time. Somehow it feels like it's all broken beyond remedy now.

Chocolate brown eyes lock with pale ocean ones for the second time across the crowded room.

It's just a matter of seconds before Toshiro climbs off the stool he'd been slouched on, never breaking eye contact. _Fuck it._ He's sick and tired of listening to the frantic pumping in his chest without acting on it, not to mention his other, easily figured bodily reactions. Ichigo ignites him. Despite his exceptionally high IQ Toshiro can't think of a single good reason why the redhead should have that much power over him, but he does, and – that's kind of the problem, Toshiro can't even think when the fucker is around, and it annoys him to no end, but it's just the way things are. Little harm if it sucks. _That's it, this is the last time. I swear this is going to be the last time we…_

Ichigo watches in disbelief as the smaller boy strides over the throng to reach him, then stops halfway as if struck by a sudden thought. _Surely he can't be suggesting…?_ Toshiro takes a quick look around before nodding toward the back of the club and sneaking that way, motioning for the carrot-top man to follow with a curt shake of his head. _Well, fuck. This being the case…_ Upon making sure no one is looking his way, Ichigo mingles with the crowd, ready to slip away at the best given moment. Finally, finally the blood feels hot in his veins. The redhead has got absolutely no idea what came over his ever reluctant lover, but god knows he's not passing on a perfect chance at intimacy now that Toshiro barely speaks to him at all. They do need to have a chat, that much is sure. _Whatever else may spark_, Ichigo tells himself while strolling over the dance floor, _'s just gonna be additional benefits. Nothing relevant nor emotionally compromising. Screw this shit. _

Wishful thinking never really hurt anyone, has it?

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Music's too fucking loud. Damn it. Toshiro had been too enthralled to notice before, but right now, whilst standing with his back against the wall in the dark storage room, waiting and cursing to himself, he's painfully aware of pretty much anything, any change in his surroundings, any beat of the bloody techno – shit, he knows for sure Ichigo doesn't like this crappy music more than he does – any scent, any noise, any shadow. Craving and longing and pure unadulterated need shake his body so hard Toshiro fears he's going to pass out cold. Which is funny, really, since it's blood hot in there. How he'd rather be out in the freezing December, instead of –

"Oi."

_Tch._ "Took you long enough."

Ichigo smiles that condescending smile of his that unnerves the smaller boy to no end. "Not as long as it took you to show up around here again. How've you been?"

A cool shiver runs down Toshiro's spine. Odd. "Busy. You?" Shit, screw small talk! He doesn't even care how's the motherfucker been, goddamnit. This is so stupid, but it seems like it can't be helped.

"This and that." The redhead shrugs and takes a step further into the tiny room (Toshiro doesn't fail to notice). "Sorry 'bout before. Lad at the door's new."

"Don't mention it."

" 'kay."

Silence. Well, except for the sodding techno music coming in stereo. Toshiro drags sheepishly his heels on the ground. He's ever grateful for the darkness protecting him from Ichigo's brain-melting stare, since the man's sole aura is enough to make his breath quicken. His smell fills up the storage room, invades Toshiro's nostrils with its musky, slightly metallic quality. Smells like a street fighter's blood, even though classy, well-off Kurosaki jr. is anything but. The silver-haired boy snickers to himself. Classy, yet not above shoving his precious dick up another man's ass in a dirty alley right behind the family club.

"So… you haven't told Matsumoto about us."

Ichigo's words shake the smaller youth to awareness. "There's no us."

A short, cheerless laugh. Then: "Get a grip. I just meant you lied to her 'bout the last time you were here." The redhead's features soften in a moment. "It's not like you to tell stories. What happened?"

Toshiro feels suddenly very much conscious of their proximity. As putting physical distance among them is currently impossible, though, cool words alone shall do. "Nothing happened. That's exactly the point."

Now that he's close enough, Ichigo is wasting no chances at human contact. His hand reaches out to pull at Toshiro's black sweater, fingers fumbling playfully with the hem. "Let me guess. Last time was a mistake." He suggests in a light happy tone, visibly mocking the other boy's cold façade. Then a darker shade of something Toshiro can't quite put his finger on crosses the chocolate eyes, and Ichigo leans forward, his face coming to rest a mere breath away from the silver-haired man's. "What's this time gonna be then?"

And they're kissing, gripping at each other's fronts for dear life, their tongues wrestling and lips smashing with little care. Toshiro yanks the redhead by the shirt, pulling him flush against his own thinner form and ripping a button or two in the process. They're melding together again, like they always have, and there's no bloody denying it is purely intoxicating. _Fuck, his body_ –

Ichigo's knee slips to spread the silver head's legs apart before openly rubbing at the boy's cloth-covered crotch. Toshiro moans in the kiss, his own hands rushing to pull at the other's belt. There's no point in fooling around for people like them, people who know exactly what they want and how to get it. At least, that's what Toshiro has been thinking until a strong hand clasps his wrist and holds it in place, inches above the redhead's waistline.

"Here?"

Relief comes so intense the white-haired youth feels like screaming at the top of his lungs. "Dun care." He growls in-between kisses. "Jus' geron with it."

Ichigo obeys and Toshiro's fly springs open, exposing a full hard-on clad in grey boxers. The redhead's hand is instantly shoved down the unfastened pants, tugging them to slide mid-thigh. Someway through the shorter boy's shuffling Kurosaki's expensive leather belt ends up thrown carelessly on the ground, but the young man doesn't seem to mind nor notice for that matter – he's too busy groping Toshiro's ass in order to lift him up against the wall.

Teal eyes hold his gaze, seeming to look right through him. _Only you_, Ichigo wants to say, but manages to bite it back just before the words tumble out of his mouth. That's not the kind of things either of them needs right now. _Right_ _now_, meaning he's only sticking to hushed quickies till better days come – days when Toshiro will be able to look at him without seeing the man who shot him down while he was experiencing his first real crush. Some faults you're never really done amending for, Ichigo considers.

Toshiro shifts against the shelf poking him in the back. When he'd first walked in the narrow room he'd been too flustered to take a nice look at his surroundings; now he totally regrets it. Whatever it is that Ichigo has him pinned to is nudging his spine uncomfortably and, what's even crazier, Toshiro is _loving_ it. He's loving every minute of Ichigo's hands groping his butt, every minute of the man's tongue fucking his mouth, every bloody minute of their hips rolling together and now partly covered arousals rubbing each other. Ichigo is thick and hard and, goddamnit, his kisses alone have Toshiro squirm to hold back the desperate leaking of his eager, eager cock. The redhead's right hand slips to the front of his boxers, palming him roughly through the fabric. A loud hiss is heard. "Damn, Ichigo…"

Kurosaki takes advantage of the other one breaking their kiss to bite down hard on his own lower lip. Anyone who knew Hitsugaya Toshiro as the boy was in his daily life would never believe how sensitive he got during sex. That small body responds to all kind of stimulation so wantonly, reacts to every touch so strongly it has Ichigo lose his mind completely. After laying his lover's thin frame on a big paperboard box resting against the wall beside them, the orange-haired youth takes a step back to put some distance between them, then drops to his knees.

_Shit_, is all the none-too-elaborate thinking going on in Toshiro's mind while the man's body arches into the deliciously wicked mouth working over his shaft. Ichigo nuzzles the white-haired boy's crotch, breathing in the strong musky scent of arousal; then a skilled tongue darts past the redhead's lips and gives said clothed erection a hard lick. Toshiro's hips buck forward as the boy moans helplessly. Damnit, _damnit, you bloody fucker._ Only Ichigo has ever done – no, could ever do – this to him, reduce him to an incoherent, begging pool of lust. Such a disgraceful scene to witness, Toshiro reckons, but he Can't. Help. It. And it's not like he hasn't tried, even though every night spent in his bed alone knowing what he's losing takes just the tiniest shred of his scattered heart away. One by one, till nothing remains. _That's it. I want to love you till there's nothing left,_

… _but…_

Ichigo is still tonguing him through his cloth, ravishing him expertly, when Toshiro pulls at his hair to jerk him away. They lock eyes for a moment, both men panting and needy and broken. Teal orbs screw shut, which the redhead misinterprets as his cue to take things to the next level. Thoroughly wetted boxers slide off, and Toshiro feels the corners of his eyes tingle with pent-up tears.

… _what's the point if every time…_

A rustling sound and Ichigo is back on his feet, his shoes and pants discarded into a ball on the floor. Toshro wraps his skinny legs around his partner's waist, growling with feral possessiveness as their bare erections clash. The redhead's lips press against his in a soft peck before moving toward his earlobe, where they take their time nibbling and sucking at the sensitive skin. Just as Toshiro's about to demandingly grind his hips into his lover's, Ichigo lets out a quiet murmur, which somehow has the white-haired man's eyes water up even more. "Slow down, li'l thing. Gotta make it good for you."

… _is__ but another last time?_

Toshiro coaxes his lover into a harsh kiss lest those blasted tears give his inner anguish away. Ichigo doesn't seem to notice the wet, salted trails on his cheeks; in a moment he's adjusting to brush at Toshiro's entrance with the tip of his throbbing length, leaving little doubt what his intentions are.

"Wait. Let… lemme – "

The redhead draws back to give the smaller boy room to climb off the box and prop down on his knees. Understanding creeps over Ichigo's formerly puzzled face as Toshiro lifts his gaze to look at him from his telltale position between the other's spread legs. "Haven't been with anyone since – " The kneeling boy trails off mid-sentence and averts his eyes, probably, Ichigo muses, afraid to show all the sheer emotion in them. Well, too late for that. "… watch out." Toshiro mumbles at last, and it's the lamest warning ever, really, since a moment later his tongue is lapping at the redhead's bouncing cock, kissing all reasonable thought away. Ichigo can't help but whimper as his partner takes to sucking him off hurriedly, careful to coat the whole length in saliva before deep-throating him.

Toshiro knows he's really, really not supposed to be enjoying this, but truth is he has to force himself to pull away. The mere sight of Ichigo's red, glistening cock so close to his own face, though, threatens to send him over the edge and he subconsciously grips the man's firm butt cheeks to steady himself. Too bad the soft gasp this elicits from the taller boy draws Toshiro to take the pleading hard-on in his mouth again. _Talk about giving _swallow the bait_ a whole new meaning_, his sense of humour screams somewhere very well hidden inside of him, but the irony's lost on the withering, grunting mess that Ichigo has become. The engorged head hits repeatedly the roof of Toshiro's mouth as Kurosaki fidgets; just when the white-haired boy is preparing to welcome the hot flesh down his throat, though, his lover pulls away with an abrupt jerk of his hips. "Point made." Ichigo mutters, lust-glazed eyes boring into their partners. "C'mere."

No sooner has Toshiro risen to his feet than he's once more pinned against the wall by the redhead's broad chest. Cloth covered chest, the boy recalls before tugging at the offending garment separating him from Ichigo's warm, _so hideously warm_ skin. The black shirt he had previously admired comes off smoothly, leaving him to the contemplation of something equally worth admiring. Now, if only the pointed rubbing of Ichigo's moist tip against his opening wasn't so distracting…

Husky whispering reaches his ears. "Brace yourself. I want you to feel this." Ichigo all but breathes, his hold on the other man's thighs tightening. Toshiro only catches a glimpse of his face in the dim light, but it's enough to make him shiver at the bitter half-smile there. " 'tis our last time after all, innit?"

After that it's all pushing in and pulling out, in and out, delving each time deeper – deeper than hurt, deeper than time, and why does Toshiro feel like crying anyway? – just to make the retreat sting all the more – the loss, ever present, haunting him, Ichigo knows his wrongs and he can't make up. Every kiss a promise, every sigh a truce, every moan a dagger. Silence. Silent, for god's sake, lest their well-rehearsed sappy play take the wrong turn – that for tragedy or sodding happy ending, it doesn't even matter. This is all they've got.

It doesn't help that it feels so incredibly good, either, Toshiro tells himself as a particularly harsh thrust has him throw his head back and cry in ecstasy. Here and now, this moment in space – Ichigo sheathed balls-deep inside him, plunging against his prostate with every erratic jolt of his hips – seems great enough to make all the hurt go away, big enough to make a change. Except that nothing really ever changes, and every time all but hurts worse.

Just the tiny bit harder, just the tiny bit faster. Ichigo is struggling to catch his breath. Toshiro's walls embrace him, lull him, lead him on, then suck him into their darkest core and hold him there, right on the edge, not a single step over. _Bloody story of my life_, the redhead broods. What if… damn it. What if he crossed the sodding threshold for once? What if he did take that one step beyond any line they might have drawn in time? _Sure it can't get any worse than this._

Suddenly Ichigo is tugging at Toshiro's boat neckline with his teeth, desperate for more contact. The silver-haired man shudders as a hot mouth closes over his collarbone, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses in its wake. And here he was thinking this couldn't get any more arousing… Ichigo licks and sucks at his pulse point, making Toshiro clench so hard around him the redhead needs to slow down his pace a little not to lose control. The words he's longed to say and hear for a long time seep through his lips with no restraints. "Love you. I love you." And he steals his partner's mouth, if not to make a point, at least to silence him before the boy can dismiss his confession as incoherent sex babbling. Which Toshiro is definitely bound to do, since –

"You too." A quiet gasp against his lips. Ichigo is so stunned his movements cease almost completely; that is, until Toshiro moans his disapproval and takes matters into his own hands, riding the redhead's erection in long, powerful thrusts. The smaller boy smirks to himself at Ichigo's obvious surprise. Hell, the man can be so naïve. _I love you, you love me, what does it change?_ This ain't going to end up with some _sitting in a tree holding hands and k-i-s-s-i-n-g_ bullshit. Love's no nursery rhyme, _their_ love's no nursery rhyme, and Toshiro has learnt to make the most of every moment 'cause they're so hardly given any second chances. That said, it's about time Kurosaki stops thinking and focuses on what he's best at. The white-haired youth makes sure he's got all of the redhead's attention by kissing him roughly, pinching his nipples and squeezing the life out of him with his practised inner muscles all at the same time.

The outcome is brilliant. Ichigo growls against his neck, a deep, low sound that has Toshiro's skin prickle with excitement, then picks up a fast if unsteady pace. The hot hard-on sliding in and out of his body is splitting Hitsugaya in two, but nothing ever felt quite this satisfying before. Arching his back to meet Ichigo's every thrust, the white-haired genius feels his climax build and instinctively takes a look around in search of something to support him through the fierce jolts of pleasure coming up. Not finding it, he settles for his lover's shoulders and slumps against the boy, crushing him with his whole – admittedly irrelevant – weight. Incidentally, the new closeness allows him to grind his erection nicely into Ichigo's stomach, and Toshiro finds himself struggling to stay conscious among all the pounding and the stroking _and _his partner's illegally clever tongue doing little naughty things to his earlobes and jaw line.

This is the moment Ichigo likes best, the one he treasures for future reference when all alone in his bedroom: Toshiro lets himself go completely and begs for release with everything he's got, too enthralled to notice all the little freedoms his partner is taking – like feeling up those marvellously smooth butt cheeks or flicking his tongue over the cold boy's ear shell.

They've fallen into a crazy rhythm now: every time Ichigo slams his dick in, Toshiro is pushed more forcefully against the wall. Several glass bottles start wobbling on the shelves, threatening to fall down together with all the random junk in the _Gotei_'s storage room. Ichigo can't help feeling oddly turned on by the instability – it's good to think you and your lover are going at it so hard you're breaking a bloody room down – but Toshiro doesn't seem unaffected either, if the muffled cry he lets out while burying his face into the redhead's neck is any indication.

The desperate twitching of the short boy's arousal against his own belly tells Ichigo all he needs to know seconds before Toshiro comes, his teeth sinking down into the tender flesh of the other's shoulder, hard to bruise. Fighting against his primal instinct – screaming _claim, claim, make him_ _feel it till the last drop, give it all_ – to stay somewhat gentle, the redhead pulls out completely before slamming back in to the hilt. A rush of electricity goes straight to his groin, and Ichigo knows he needs to end it now, before it's too late to retreat –

– but Toshiro feels so tight and hot around him, and the boy is literally mewling into his shoulder for crying out loud… ! – Ichigo comes with a loud groan, shooting his load inside his one-too-many night stand like he never dared do before.

The taller man's knees give away through the aftershocks and they collapse in a tangled mess on the floor. It's dark around them, but Ichigo doesn't need his eyes to tell apart Toshiro's utmost fury: the way he fidgets to pull away from his partner's embrace, rummages for his clothes and finally scrambles on his feet speaks much eloquently for itself. The redhead thinks he should be used to it by now, though he can't help that hideous sense of emptiness creeping through his body at Toshiro's hurry. Sure, the dirty floor of a storage room in a night club is no place for basking in the aftermath, but it fucking hurts to see him go, this time above all others. Ichigo shuts his eyes. Words of love ring in his ears together with the rustling sound of fabric as the silver-haired man puts his clothes back on. Damn, this is all wrong.

Finally Toshiro can feel it, the chilling December air. It's all bottled up inside him, along with Kurosaki's semen. Shivers run down his spine at the mental image. How dared that bloody messed up asshole – ? Toshiro pulls up his zipper. A disgusted scowl plays on his face both at the bothersome feeling of bodily fluids running down his thighs and a very disturbing idea that's just crossed his mind. His birthday's coming up in a week. Ichigo used to complain they were never allowed to spend it together. _Guess that was his twisted way of getting me a present! _The mere thought makes him want to throw up.

There's really nothing to say, so neither speaks. Ichigo watches his lover go out by the same door he went in feeling full of desire and expectations less than an hour ago. The loud beat of the techno – fuck, how the redhead hates this music – invades the narrow room for a split moment, before Toshiro shuts the door behind him. Ichigo is left sprawled on the floor, staring at the sodding door hard enough to make a hole in the wood. His lips arch in a weak grin.

"See ya next last time, love."

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**Yay, done! Sorry it took me a while. Thanks so much to BreathexFreely, Kai-Chan94, SillyWQ, MissJudged16 and xTKx for their amazing reviews! *w* Also, thanks to everyone who added this story/me as an author to their favs, you're priceless =3 . I'm happy you all appreciated the awkwardness in _Frost Time_, I intended it to be as plausible as a fanmade lemon betwen Ichigo and Toshiro can get xD.**

**How did you like this different kind of characterization? (My first time with a Bleach AU fic, mind you.) I enjoyed writing it a lot. So much in fact I could even consider a spin-off to explain just how did Ichi and Shiro come to this... we'll see. =D**

**Chapter 3 is not ready yet, but will definitely come in time. As per usual, stick around and review if you wish to tell me anything - or are just feeling very generous and want to make my day! *w* Thanks for dropping by anyway.**


	3. A Lime In Between

**DISCLAIMER: **Tite Kubo owns all things Bleach.

**WARNINGS (for this chapter only):**IchiHitsu established, yaoi, some fooling around though nothing graphic. I'm back to the usual characterization for this final shot, so yeah, these are the same Ichigo and Toshiro from 'Frost Time', the 'Habit' Series and so on. More precisely, this is set a few months after _Make It A Habit_, which there might be some references to hither and thither.

**GENRE (for this chapter only): **humour, romance, a little fluff toward the end.

**SUMMARY****: **"If we can do it we should be damn able to say it!"

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**3. A Lime In Between**

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At times it's the littlest things than can blow out your plans. For instance, there's something utterly disarming about stepping foot into your house after a long school day to find a pair of foreign shoes in the hallway. Now, Ichigo's general dislike for people, especially unwanted afternoon guests, is no secret for anyone – at least, not anyone close enough to pay the Kurosaki a visit, so it's like a dog chasing its tail, really. The redhead takes off his own shoes and sighs as loudly as possible. Rudeness treatment works to scare some people off: _let's see if I'm getting lucky…_

The second he walks into the kitchen Ichigo knows he'll have to reconsider his definition of luck anyway.

"Oi!"

"You're back." Greets a remarkably out of place 10th division Hitsugaya-taichou, sitting at the table with his most collected face on.

"Toshiro. What are you doing here?"

The ice master seems – illogically, Ichigo thinks – taken aback by the – most legitimate, Ichigo argues again – question. "I was waiting for you. Is… is this the wrong place? I didn't know where else to – I haven't touched anything."

"That's not it!" Gods, that's what you get for mingling with creatures from another friggin' dimension. Their priorities are awfully messed up, seriously. "I meant what are you doing _here_, in, y'know, in this world."

All traces of bewilderment wiped away from his stoic features, Toshiro stretches his arms across the table. If Ichigo didn't know better, he'd be tempted to say the kid looks much like a cute lazy kitty right now. Hell, the horrific deceits of first impressions! "Karin had a match. She asked me to come see her play. Her team won, so they were going someplace I didn't quite catch to celebrate afterwards. I knew you'd be getting home from school soon enough, though, so I declined the offer and came here to wait."

"Oh. I see. Well, thanks." Ichigo scratches the back of his head. "This…" He trails off abruptly. _This_ is the kind of situation that leaves him at a total loss for what to do, but it somehow feels like a bad idea to tell Toshiro. Opting for a discreet getaway, the demi-hollow gestures at the schoolbag in his hand. "I have to… you know, drop this upstairs and all. It'll only take a minute."

"Fine. I'll be waiting right here."

Ichigo frowns. Something's off with the prodigy's answer, but he's not exactly sure what it is. "You can come along." He points out the obvious. Which is apparently none too obvious to Toshiro, if the captain's total unresponsiveness is anything to go by. Struck by a sudden suspicion, Ichigo inquires. "Where's everyone?"

"Your father's at the clinic and Yuzu was with me at the match. She's gone partying with Karin and her fellows."

_Tch._ _That's hardly everyone._ Lucky Toshiro's got no idea what it means to live with the Kurosaki family. "How 'bout Kon?"

The fleeting smirk that crosses Hitsugaya's face for the briefest moment as the kid shows the round green pill on his palm is enough to prove Ichigo wrong.

"Got it." Instinctively, the redhead licks his suddenly dry lips. "That means…"

Apparently, Toshiro isn't getting 'out of instinct' as an excuse. "Get your mind outta the gutter, Kurosaki!" The prodigy barks, arms folded across his chest. "I'm not here for _that._"

"How did you know I – never mind." Gods, just in time. A slip like that could easily spoil the mood for the day. Ichigo combs his untamed hair back with one hand, wrinkling his nose. It feels like treading on thin ice, but he can't just not ask. "Toshiro… well, don't get me wrong, but… you're only ever here _for that._"

Blushing Hitsugaya-taichou is a rare, thus priceless sight. "I was thinking maybe we could do something else this time." The ice master mutters, scrupulously avoiding eye contact. "That's why we're better off in a de-bedded environment. Just so, you know. We don't yield to our… hormones and… shit like that." (_Hormones_ being part of the basic scientific vocabulary the captain had wanted to learn in order to overcome the embarrassment derived from discussing sexual matters.)

Ichigo's brain process is dangerously slowing down due to the myriads of captivating images forming in his 16-year-old's head. "Something else." He repeats dumbly, before pulling himself together. "Like, what? Watching a movie? Or just… dunno, talk?"

Something akin to hope crosses teal eyes as they rise to meet light brown ones again. "Talk sounds fine."

It's kind of endearing, really, how utterly beautiful Ichigo finds his partner's moments of shyness to be. The demi-hollow adjusts the schoolbag on his shoulders and smiles, a tiny, cautious twitching of lips. "Understood. 'lright, be right back."

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Toshiro watches the redhead's back disappear at the top of the staircase. Now, what's with this odd sense of… cold? The captain could swear his reiatsu is well under control this time. Slightly disorientated, Toshiro stands up and begins roaming aimlessly around.

The Kurosaki's kitchen is a plain cosy room, or would be without the eerie poster stuck to the wall. While many would consider keeping such a large picture of your dead wife in display as lack of decorum, Isshin Kurosaki, ever the eccentric, was firmly convinced that having a giant photo of their mother around made for next best after the real thing in his daughters' education. Toshiro would beg to differ, but it wasn't his place to do so. _Either way, the bloody thing gives me the creeps. Feels like her eyes follow my every move._ Scuffing his feet in discomfort, the captain walks out of the kitchen and into the adjacent living room.

Even here the furniture is plain and simple but all surfaces, from the coffee table to the TV screen, shine with Yuzu's maniacal care for house chores. Toshiro's inner bookworm feels instantly drawn to a tall bookshelf in a corner. Once in close proximity, though, it's not the books that catch the taichou's attention, but rather a series of framed pictures aligned on the jutting shelf. Feeling slightly nervous about prying into other people's business but unable to hold back, Toshiro lets his eyes wander. Some pictures featuring Masaki surrounded by her children look pretty old – gods, is that even Ichigo? The obnoxious Shinigami Hitsugaya has known bears short to no resemblance to the cute little boy smiling brightly in the photograph. They say a person's face and body change in time, while eyes stay the same throughout their entire life; Ichigo's eyes, however, appear to have changed a lot. _Or maybe it's just his gaze,_ Toshiro muses, still staring intently at the portrait.

Most recent pictures show Ichigo just like the boy has been for many years now: scowling, frowning and looking all in all aggravated. _The bloke must think taking photos is a big pain in the ass – _Toshiro can't help but agree (even if it scares him to no end. C'mon, whatever have Ichigo and he agreed on before? Well, aside from sex. They get along just fine when it comes to that. But Toshiro's mind won't go there just now, thank you. Back on track.). One of the pictures, the captain is fairly sure, was taken on Kurosaki's 16th birthday: half of the Gotei's ranked officers are there in their gigais, most looking completely smashed. Toshiro grimaces. Call him heartless, but he can't bring himself to regret not taking part in the drunken mess. Besides, it's not like he and Ichigo didn't have their private party afterwards, he recalls with a slight blush creeping over his cheeks.

Anyone who'd look at the photos in line as they were would notice the change in the redhead's expression, the icy dragon decides. _It's plain to see something got broken in the way. _Toshiro shifts uncomfortably to shake off the heavy weight that's suddenly propped down on his chest, then strides over the couch and sits with his back straight against the stuffed cushions.

"People usually turn it on, you know."

Ichigo's voice startles him. And a startled Hitsugaya-taichou is an unhappy Hitsugaya-taichou. "What the hell are you going on about now? B'sides, it's not nice to sneak up on people like that."

"And here I thought it was impossible to sneak up on almighty captain Snow White! What happened to your prodigious reiatsu-dar?" No answer comes. Ichigo raises his eyebrows. Now, the 10th division taichou is _not_ known for letting people get away with calling him nicknames. Especially utterly humiliating ones – height-related, for instance. And, seriously, Snow White? Many have died for less than this. So, why isn't Toshiro at his throat right now?

The white-haired boy's mind has _clicked_ the moment Ichigo walked into the room. The redhead's lips had been arched in a light smile that gave his features a casual, relaxed expression. The same contented face he had on in the oldest pictures on the shelf. Toshiro frowns. This gives his speculations some sort of a twist. He had automatically assumed Ichigo's change had everything to do with his mother's death; so, why would he look this… well, at peace now? The difference is striking, even though – even though Toshiro himself had never given it much thought before he came across those family pictures.

Taking his partner's silence as a good sign, Ichigo ventures to prop down on the couch next to him, a tad closer than propriety would call for. "So… wanna watch TV?"

Toshiro is still racking his brain when the question comes. "I thought we'd settled for having a talk." He objects in bewilderment.

Chocolate brown eyes roll in their orbits. "Yeah, but you're sitting on the couch, right in front of – people usually…" Ichigo sighs at the captain's clueless expression. "Never mind." How foolish of him to expect Toshiro would find anything strange with sitting on a sofa staring at an off telly.

They sit in awkward silence for a moment, until the demi-hollow's next attempt at conversation. "So, how was the game?"

"Interesting. You should have been there."

"I had school."

Toshiro glares. "Don't give me that shit, you weren't even aware Karin was playing. You're a pretty crappy brother, y'know."

Ichigo sputters in outrage. "Says who?"

"Not Yuzu nor Karin, they're too kind for that. I can't for the love of anything understand why, but you're their bloody hero. Nothing you do is ever wrong to them." Toshiro snorts, then casts a sidelong dirty look in Ichigo's general direction. "This doesn't give you the right to take them for granted, though."

"Geez, what's with all the lecturing all of a sudden?" The redhead huffs. Honestly, what the fuck? _Like he's one to talk. He practices kidō on his cousin! _"If that's what you meant by having a chat, I think I'll pass."

"You're a one-track minded jerk, Kurosaki."

"No, I'm not. Hell, what's wrong with you?"

"Apparently, you are what's wrong with me."

"How – !" Then it hits him. Ichigo finds himself repressing the urge to chuckle. Seriously, Toshiro's defence mechanisms? Totally endearing, if you ask him. "This is not working. Whatever you're trying to do, that is." He explains as gently as possible, dreading to make the mocking in his voice too obvious. "Not working. So, you might as well spit out what's the matter. That's kind of what you do when you're having a talk with your – " _**Ha!**_ Hichigo pops up from his comfortable hiding place, ever willing to help. _**Can't say it, can ya king? **_" – whatever." Ichigo ends lamely.

The 10th division captain turns to look fully at the boy beside him. "I think this hits the nail on the head." He utters quietly, finally voicing his private train of thought aloud. His tone takes on an irritated edge as he adds. "If we can do it we should be damn able to say it!" One more sneaked glance, then a sigh. "Whatarewe?"

Toshiro's words are spat out so fast Ichigo fails to process them. "What…"

"And before you speak your dirty mind: it's not like sleeping together actually qualifies us as anything."

The redhead's eyebrows twitch in amusement. _Now this is rich._ "You call that sleeping together?"

Toshiro's facial expression switches from annoyed embarrassment to murderer intent in a fraction of a second. "Sleeping, fucking, whatever. You really are a perv, Kurosaki."

"I wasn't trying to make you _say_ it, I – " Ichigo sighs through gritted teeth. _Guess this was bound to_ _come up sooner or later. _"I meant it's hardly sleeping together if every time I nearly have to tie you down to keep you in bed afterwards." His voice lowers by several octaves till it sounds like little more than a whisper toward the end.

The swordsman frowns at the subdued look on the carrot-top's face. _Tch._ Who the hell is he trying to impress with those kicked puppy eyes? "This is beside the point. I'd appreciate – "

"Is it now?" Ichigo looks him in the eyes and Toshiro is screwed.

_Damn manipulative jerk._ The whole staying in bed afterwards is one of their many unsolved issues, one Kurosaki finds particularly bothersome at that. Of course the icy taichou can't see what the big deal is – heck, it gets friggin' hot in bed after they're done, and it's all the more uncomfortable since none of the surfaces they happen to have their intercourses on is ever suitable for two, _and_ don't even have him start with the hygiene abhorrence that is lazing about on those dirty sheets! – nor why should it trouble Ichigo so much, but it's plain to see that it does, so this… kind of… makes it his problem to solve, right? 'Cause this is how you act around your treasured ones – you share their burdens as well as their joys, and they do the same for you, and, and all that shit. Right? Toshiro groans inwardly at his own idiocy. Honestly, _treasured ones?_ They really need to arrange for a better definition of whatever the hell they are, or he'll get depressed. That had been his point in the first place, before Kurosaki decided to twist the cards and mess with his head. Well, bad news for the asshole: you just don't mess with a captain's head and get out unharmed.

Although… Ichigo looks so…

Toshiro moans in defeat. _Fuck, have I softened. _"I will accept discussing the matter you've raised after we've been through with my question." He mumbles what he's told to be a concession, then, straightening his back against the armrest, turns to sit crosswise on the couch, his legs dangling over the edge. Ichigo stares at him funnily, but the ice master is not getting distracted again. "So, what do you reckon we should be labelled as?"

The substitute Shinigami pulls a disgruntled face. Damn, _labelled?_ Such a crude choice of words! "I don't know a bloody thing 'bout labels, Toshiro." He grunts, only relaxing a bit upon seeing the captain isn't throwing a tantrum for his omission of formalities. "This – _we_ are not some kind of paperwork you need to get over and done with, taichou." The mere thought makes blood rush to his head. It's all Ichigo can do not to let a new surge of anger have the best of him. "And you can't leave it up to me to do all the work like I was your subordinate."

Despite his extraordinary IQ, Toshiro can't help replaying the same words (_paperwork, paperwork,_ we_ are not, subordinate, some kind of paperwork, taichou_) in his head over and over, unable to move on. Resentment gets the upper hand on all other emotions in the end. Heck, is this what the git thinks? The captain's fists clench. "Don't be ridiculous, Kurosaki."

Toshiro is getting used to the now tense atmosphere, so quickly in fact he's almost startled when Ichigo leans forward, reducing the distance between their bodies. "I'll tell you what." The redhead speaks up conversationally. "Each of us shall say how he feels about this… label thing, then we can sort of meet halfway." The demi-hollow's smile wavers a bit while met with the swordsman's obvious diffidence. "What?"

Hitsugaya holds the other boy's gaze for a moment, before uncrossing his legs and raising on his feet. "Forget it. 'twas a silly question from the beginning."

"Fine, I'll start." Ichigo's voice has him stop dead in motion before the captain has the chance to take more than a single step. Toshiro wills himself to keep his back turned on the orange-haired teen, even if half his body and soul are literally yearning to look.

"You are… my most special person."

Hyōrinmaru's owner screws his eyes tight shut. This cannot possibly be happening, can it?

There's no need to look to tell Ichigo's lips are twisted in a tiny smirk. "We're friends. And I like you quite a lot, in case you didn't notice."

_Smartass_, Toshiro snorts to himself.

"Above all other things," a short pause, long enough to make the captain's heart beat faster in his chest, "whatever the case, you are the person I feel the strongest about."

…

"And you know what? I don't give a damn what you wish to call me, so long as you keep wanting to call me."

Toshiro turns to a – foolishly, _foolishly, he's such a fool_ but damn has he grown on you – grinning Kurosaki.

"That is all that matters to me." Here the 16-year-old bends over the armrest to grab his _whatever_'s arm and pull him closer, but it turns out he really needn't bother since next thing he knows Toshiro is practically straddling him, his pale fingers entwining in red locks with bad-disguised passion. Ichigo's 'mmmph' of surprise gets muffled as the white-haired young man presses his lips fiercely against their equally eager, if astounded, partners. They kiss fervently, Toshiro's tongue seeking promptly granted entrance first. Their breaths mingle and bodies meld together, Ichigo shifting ever so slightly to allow his lover's legs to settle at each side of him, thus deepening the contact of skin-on-skin. Well, clothed skin, but still.

It's not until the kid captain's hips begin grinding down into his, effectively rubbing their groins together, that the carrot-top realizes things are getting out of hand.

Now, just how do you stop desiring your _whatev – _let's call him boyfriend shall we? – your _boyfriend_ with every friggin' cell in your body for just enough time to push him off of you when he's in such a delectable predicament? Hell, why would you even want to, for crying out loud? _**'Cause it's not right.**_ Hichigo happily supplies, once more amazing his king with his ability to show up at any given moment. _**N' it makes it look like he wins. **_

Shiro's most impressive talent was always pushing his host's buttons with clinical precision, as Ichigo is painfully reminded of at the latter assertion. That's why, fighting against all primal urges and even common sense, the demi-hollow jerks his head backward, snatching his lips away from the gentle and passionate hold of his lover's. "Huh, T'shiro – " Fuck, is this hard. Getting harder by the minute, as the prodigy's rocking motion makes almost impossible to forget.

Defying his own usual reserve, Toshiro takes the break in their kissing as a chance to focus his attentions on the carrot-top's neck, collarbone, earlobe, revelling in the sheer self-satisfaction that having Ichigo squirm under him provides. Soon the school uniform necktie gets in the way, and the captain takes to tugging at it with impatience – he likes classy, but if the sodding garment doesn't come off right now…

Gods, this is surreal. Ichigo had never thought it possible the day would come he'd have to reject Toshiro's advances, mostly because Toshiro does _not_ make advances. The carrot-top goes rigid under the smaller boy's assault, though he can't help reclining his head against the cushions to give more room for those amazingly sinful kisses. "Thought you weren't here for that this time." He half sighs half moans as Toshiro nibbles and sucks gently at his pulse point. Sodding tease. Ichigo feels himself hardening, the grey fabric of the uniform pants straining against his want.

The ice master buries his head in the crook of the other's neck, muttering something about a change of heart. Then he wriggles meaningfully, and Ichigo's eyes roll back in their orbits. "You – " The redhead clears his croaked voice. "You'll admit this is unbecoming of you." Bloody understatement, Toshiro is all but ravishing him on the spot.

Teal eyes meet amber ones for a split moment, before the captain goes back to the task of popping Ichigo's shirt buttons open. " 's not wise to question your luck." The boy lets out a soft growl.

Okay, okay, desperate times call for desperate measures. Ichigo grips his uncharacteristically eager lover's wrists, holding them in place against his own chest. Where they seem to belong quite deliciously, really. The sub Shinigami shakes his head to regain composure. "Toshiro." He calls out, wincing at the blatant panting in his voice. _**Geez, way to sound like yer in control here, **_Hichigo helpfully sneers. "We never really finished our talk."

Here it comes, the revealing hitch in the whiz kid's breath. Awestruck, Ichigo feels Toshiro go rigid against him and pull back as if the faintest contact could burn him.

The look in those jade eyes, however, is not the deadly one Kurosaki was anticipating. The captain stares at him quizzically, his sharp features twisted in a 'have we not?' face, for the longest moment. Then – Ichigo gasps in shock and delight – Toshiro is kissing him, slowly, softly yet with such wonderful intensity the redhead feels his legs weaken under the light weight. When they finally part the white-haired prodigy breathes on his lover's swollen lips. "Love you."

Well. _Well._ Ichigo has dreamed about this, fantasized about this happening, but it was never, never like this. Mainly 'cause it was never real. Toshiro sounds cool as always, like those two little words meant nothing different from what they usually tell each other, while _he_ is having a fucking heart attack any moment now! Life's just not bloody fair. Then again, to look so calm whilst saying… it for the first time (it has to be, it'd _better_ be the first time Toshiro says something like this out loud, for Ichigo could easily plan any lucky whatshisface's painful demise _and_ get some help putting it in practice – Kenpachi would so be begging to jump into action…) seems quite a tough feat even for the straight-faced ice master. _Guess I'd underestimated him again. That or… _Or, Ichigo briefly considers as Toshiro resumes planting sensual butterfly kisses along his jaw line, there's many a way to say I love you, words being not nearly enough to cover each. The redhead shivers in pleasure under the swordsman's ministrations.

"Then show me."

Both men still for a moment, Ichigo just as startled as the other youth by what has escaped his lips. Before he can even think of taking it back, though, Toshiro's tongue is in his mouth, soon enough down his throat, while the boy's hands roam enthusiastically about his front, tearing and pulling at every bit of fabric they come across. The demi-hollow is nearly surrendering to his own want – Toshiro is seated right upon his pretty interested manhood, and with all the kissing and panting and writhing adding up it's all he can do not to jump out of his clothes and take the captain right then and there – but something oddly enough strikes him as…

Wrong.

The moment Toshiro's fingers set to unfasten his belt Ichigo bursts. "Don't!" The carrot-top sighs at the comprehensible bewilderment on the taichou's face. "Not… like this. I don't want you to… that's not what I…"

Ichigo's struggling with words sets Toshiro aflame. Fuming, the white-haired boy goes to climb off the other's lap, only to have his arms pinned forcefully against the sub Shinigami's chest. "What do you want, Kurosaki?" A dangerously low growl escapes his throat.

Ichigo pulls him closer, his lips grazing the whiz kid's temples. "Love me." Comes out as soft, shaky whisper. "The way I love you."

Scoffing, Toshiro withdraws. "You really are a sissy, you know that right?" He sneers, then playfully shoves at his partner's chest to put some distance.

"Don't take it out on me! 's not my fault you can't handle rejection."

Ichigo can't even begin to feel frightened by Toshiro's threateningly narrowing his eyes – _CRASH._ Both guys jump and instinctively split apart as something suspiciously similar to a cannonball breaks in through the window, smashing the glass with a loud shattering noise. Ichigo's eyes follow the intruding object as it lands on the floor, then rolls across the living room with the force of its given boost. _A soccer ball?_ "What the hell? !"

Proud shouting is heard from the outside. "Ha, you were right, Karin! This is way more effective than my methods!" Then none other than Kurosaki Isshin jumps into the room through the empty space left by the demolished window. "Gooooood afternoon, son ~ ! Say, how was that for a – oh Toshiro-kun, ye there too? Yuzu darling, set five places! We're having a precious guest over at dinner!"

The 10th division captain looks positively panic stricken. "Actually I'm not – I have to – sorry, Kurosaki-san, but I can't – "

Aiming to please, Ichigo leaps to his feet and pats the other boy on the shoulder. "Of course he's staying." He pipes up, hoping his beaming won't look too obvious. _Hell, guess there really is a god_ _above after all!_ Who'd have thought the chance to make his point across would come so soon? The redhead grins before turning his attention to the little girls who are just walking in by the door – may normal human beings be blessed. "Oi, Karin. Heard you did great. Congrats." Ichigo can barely hear his sister's baffled 'thank you' with Toshiro urgently tugging at his sleeve.

"Kurosaki, you downright prick – !"

Ichigo waits until his relatives have disappeared beyond the kitchen door to reply. "This'll teach you not to bolt _afterwards._" He smirks, visibly pleased with himself, then leans forth to whisper directly in his lover's ear. "You never know what wicked kind of vengeance a man left all alone in bed can plot!"

With that he's off, leaving behind a stunned, very much out of himself Hitsugaya. Seriously, dinner with the Kurosaki? A fucking big bad affair, as proven by a few accidental circumstances occurred in the recent past – too recent for Toshiro to forget and move on. And it wasn't all because of those goddamn ever-present dried persimmons, either.

"Come on and join us, Toshiro-kun! The sooner we're through the better. I'm practicing with my lovely little Karin-chan after dinner. She says I've got the makings of a striker!"

Having cast a meaningful glance at the smashed glass on the floor (_that struck alright_, the captain muses), Toshiro sighs and drags his feet toward the kitchen, inwardly going over all known types of punishment to decide what would fit Ichigo best. Now, if only that crazy Zaraki mutt could spare a fellow captain some time… The ice master smirks.

After all there's many a way to say I love you and just as many to take revenge.

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**Owarida! Nnnngh, I got sort of irritated toward the end. Hope it doesn't show. Much. **

**Thanks to everyone who read/fav'd/reviewed! As for the spin-off of 'Lust Time'... yay, I'm off working on it right away c8 and it's going to be a longfic!**

**As usual: leave me a comment to let me know what you thought of this =3 it really, really makes my whole week, you know. Thank you all again. *w***


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